The Veiled Pursuithttps://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com
Thu, 22 Feb 2018 07:09:41 +0000enhourly1http://wordpress.com/https://s2.wp.com/i/buttonw-com.pngThe Veiled Pursuithttps://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com
Why I Still Want to Save the Worldhttps://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/2017/10/16/why-i-still-want-to-save-the-world/
https://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/2017/10/16/why-i-still-want-to-save-the-world/#respondMon, 16 Oct 2017 18:51:45 +0000http://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/?p=1627Continue reading Why I Still Want to Save the World→]]>“I remember back when I was a first-year…our class had quite a few of those ‘save the world’ types.”

This line was said jokingly by a 3L during one of my first few weeks of law school. The group I was with laughed boisterously, and I joined in, but I felt a pang of sadness inside.

What is it about wanting to save the world that bothers people, so much so that we now have a term for it: “social justice warrior”? Maybe what bothered the 3L, and what bothers many about these so-called social justice warriors, is a certain pompousness that some inexperienced law students often possess: the belief that they alone are capable of making a difference. If there’s one thing law students are good at, it is comparing ourselves to our peers. So when faced with these bright-eyed, bushy-tailed peers that are ready to save the world, we often find ourselves asking this question: “Who are they to think that they can change the world?”

While I am not naive enough to believe that one person can overhaul the entire legal system, I don’t think that people should give up on working towards reform. I certainly understand why many give up or get jaded, especially for those of us who had jobs prior to starting law school and understand how easy it is to lose sight of what is important in the workplace. The reality is that law graduates, often saddled with a boatload of student-loan debt, have to make a living. Moreover, law firms are run like businesses, and the goals of the firm do not always align with one’s personal goals of changing the world. Reform is not easy. It is often slow-moving, incremental, and takes a lot of sacrifice. It is certainly easier to just accept things as they are, and follow whatever path the authorities have paved for us. The more I delve into my legal education, the more I learn about how difficult it can be to change longstanding institutional traditions. But maybe this is precisely why we could all use a little bit more of that social justice warrior naivete.

As a William & Mary law student, we are often reminded of the school’s goal to not just teach us how to be attorneys, but to become citizen-lawyers. Here is an excerpt from the school’s website about that philosophy:

“In December 1779, George Wythe became the first professor of law in America, a professorship created at the College of William & Mary at the urging of Thomas Jefferson. A signer of the Declaration of Independence, an early abolitionist and a ‘second father’ to Jefferson, Wythe epitomized the lawyer as civic leader and passionate advocate for equality and justice.

A William & Mary Law School education is grounded in the philosophy of the citizen lawyer. Jefferson believed that aspiring lawyers should be taught in a university setting and that they should be trained not simply to be excellent legal craftsmen, but also good citizens and leaders of their communities, states, and nations.” Source.

So, if that is the goal, then how come so many of us have given up before we’ve even graduated?

It is now a running joke among my section-mates that I am an extreme pessimist, due to a career assessment test that I took which compared my personality to that of other people working within the legal field. I was rated a 9.3 on a 10 point scale for outlook, with a 1 being highly optimistic and 10 being highly pessimistic. I’m not sure exactly how accurate this test is, but all in all, I don’t think many people would consider me an overly optimistic person. I would like to think I am a realist, and as such, I think it is important when people make goals for themselves to have reasonable, actionable objectives. Even so, I refuse to let go of my hope for a better future. Parallel to this conviction of mine is the belief that progress does not just occur naturally. It takes the conscious efforts of many people to bring about change. So, to me, it comes down to this: law school is pointless if we lose sight of why we originally came here in the first place. Maybe someone’s goal is as lofty as becoming the next Amal Clooney and fighting human genocide. Maybe this person won’t end up working in international human rights law. But what if they shift the narrative from patriarchy towards gender equality within whatever workplace they end up in? Is the end result all that bad? Should we diminish our own goals due to fear that we may not get everything we want? Why get jaded before we have even started?

And what if we have more power than we think?

During the first week of classes, in my Lawyering Skills class, my professor asked us students about what it means to be a lawyer, and what sets lawyers apart from other professions.

One classmate answered, “Being a lawyer is not like being, say, a line cook – a job that literally anyone could do.” I had an immediate visceral reaction to this statement.

Hold up – so now, lawyers are this set-apart group of people with special skills, yet apparently not powerful enough to make waves within our respective communities? We cannot claim to have power and then withhold it when it is convenient.

Marianne Williamson said in an excerpt in her book, Return to Love:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people will not feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone and as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

I think at the root of it, many law students know the power that will be conferred upon us when we receive our JD’s. We are just afraid that we will misuse that power, so it’s easier to pretend we don’t have it to begin with. May we fight that urge – the urge to make ourselves smaller. May we use our light, instead, to empower others to use their own, and to be a voice for the voiceless. Maybe we cannot change the world alone, but I sure as hell am not giving up on the belief that we can save the world together.

]]>https://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/2017/10/16/why-i-still-want-to-save-the-world/feed/02017-06-17 09.50.12 1chopstickschengVignettes on Intersectionalityhttps://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/2017/04/22/vignettes-on-intersectionality/
https://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/2017/04/22/vignettes-on-intersectionality/#respondSat, 22 Apr 2017 18:02:34 +0000http://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/?p=1533Continue reading Vignettes on Intersectionality→]]>i. When I left for college I had a huge lump in my stomach. My nerves were tempered with ecstasy. Here was a space for new adventures, new lessons learned, new wisdom gained; yet, the new made way for cravings of the old. You can only eat school cafeteria salad for so long before you long for mama’s home cooking. While my classmates pined after their mothers’ chocolate chip cookies, mac and cheese, and casseroles, I dreamt of my 媽媽’s tofu with century eggs, squid stir fry, and curry. My understanding of casserole was elementary school lunch: the grey-green sludge made of canned green beans. Something tells me that is not the type of casserole my peers yearned for.

ii. I was four years old when we moved from Utah to a small apartment in West Carrollton, Ohio. Our family of four slept on a single mattress, lain on the floor. Where my parents came from, bed frames weren’t a necessity. In America, they now call it “cosleeping.” To us, it wasn’t a new-age trend; back then, it was just sleeping. Eventually, we got our own beds, but I actually think fondly of those days when we all counted our sheep together. Maybe we push for independence too soon. Maybe it’s okay to enjoy codependence, just for a little while.

iii. I was never trained by my parents how to explain where I came from. But “my parents are from Taiwan” quickly became my mantra. “I’m from Ohio” wasn’t enough. “I was born in Utah” wasn’t enough, either. The people who badgered me for answers had the best of intentions, I’m sure, but what it said to me was that I couldn’t simply be an American. I had to be an American with a caveat, a disclaimer that read “American, but…”

What followed the “but”?

“But not fully American.”

“But Asian-American.”

“But different.”

“But not part of us.”

This was what it was, to grow up in a country that wasn’t fully mine to claim.

]]>https://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/2017/04/22/vignettes-on-intersectionality/feed/0chopstickschengUnited States: Everything I Never Told Youhttps://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/2017/03/25/united-states-everything-i-never-told-you/
https://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/2017/03/25/united-states-everything-i-never-told-you/#respondSun, 26 Mar 2017 01:49:48 +0000http://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/?p=1419Continue reading United States: Everything I Never Told You→]]>Everything I Never Told You (ISBN-13: 978-0143127550) by Celeste Ngis a book that has been on my radar for a while now. It was Ng’s debut novel, and won the Amazon Book of the Year award in 2014. I finally decided to purchase and read this when Amazon had the Kindle edition of this book, and a few other New York Times’ best sellers, for a mere $3.00. I chose to include this book in my Booking Around the World series because I wanted my selection for the United States to be special. Sadly, the majority of the books I have read have been written by American authors (which is precisely why I created the challenge for myself in the first place). I decided that when I selected a book for the United States, I wanted to choose an author that represented the diversity of America well, and I think I made a good choice.

I was shocked when I dove headfirst into a few chapters of this book and had to set it down because of how quickly I was getting attached to it. Let me tell you, this almost never happens. There are books I can’t put down because the stories are just that compelling, but the reason I had to set this one down is because the themes were hitting a little too close to home, and it was beginning to scare me. Nevertheless, I couldn’t resist for long, and had to pick it back up the following day and finish the novel in a few hours.

As a Taiwanese-American, I am always wary of immigrant stories. Oftentimes, they have overly singular themes and end up being derivative. Sometimes, they are written by authors who are not a part of the culture they are writing about, which is always dangerous territory. At the same time, there are so many spaces within the literary world that need to be filled with more American immigrant stories, to diversify the narrative of what American life looks like. Now more than ever, it is important to look to our country’s history of mistreating immigrants. It is rather sobering, and it is vital we do not forget these stories lest we make the same mistakes again.

So, as I said, I don’t normally have high expectations when it comes to stories about American immigrants. But when these types of stories are done well, I am that much more appreciative. I was put at ease when I discovered that Everything I Never Told You is an “own voices” novel, which means that the author is writing in his or her own voice, identifying with the culture that he or she is writing about. Celeste Ng is a first-generation Chinese-American that was born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. When she was 10 years old, she and her family moved to Shaker Heights, Ohio. While Everything I Never Told You is not autobiographical, and I certainly don’t think authors have to have first-hand experience of everything they write about, I do attribute her upbringing and experiences to how well-written this story was. To me, nothing felt forced and it didn’t feel like the book was something written by an outsider looking in.

The book starts off with a mixed-race family of five with a Caucasian mother, Marilyn, and Chinese-American father, James, living in suburban Ohio discovering that their 15 year old “favorite” daughter, Lydia, was found dead at the bottom of a lake.

Let’s stop right here.

James Lee is Chinese-American. I’m Taiwanese-American. The story is set in Ohio. I grew up in Ohio. This doesn’t seem like much, but sadly, it is very rare that I have even this much in common with any one character in a book. The similarities drew me into the book almost immediately. Of course, the main arc of the rest of the book is the family trying to figure out why Lydia died, and the events that led up to her death. Naturally, I was expecting a thriller; this novel ended up being so much more. Not only does it explore how each member of the family copes with Lydia’s death, but also the problems that existed in the family dynamic long before the tragedy. I felt personally connected to every single Lee family member in some way.

There are so many layers and dimensions to this narrative, which is something that I often find lacking in novels about American immigrants. I cannot deny that my culture has greatly influenced the person I am, but there needs to be more to a story than just culture (I’m looking at you, Amy Tan). I think part of why Everything I Never Told you worked so well is due to the mixed-race family aspect of this book. Sometimes I feel like I have a void where my heart should be, and James and Marilyn’s meet-cute even got to me.

But eventually, as with any marriage, obstacles developed in their relationship. On top of the normal marital difficulties, the two also have to cope with problems unique to their interracial marriage. Set in 1970’s Ohio, interracial marriages and mixed raced children were highly scrutinized. What happens when one partner has always stood out and desperately wants to fit in, and it’s the opposite for the other partner? Ng explores this theme. She also explores estrangement, missed potential, and having to settle for a life that differs from the one envisioned. Another important theme is a parent’s desire to live vicariously through their child, and the thin line between wanting a better life for your children and letting them make their own choices. One of the most difficult topics that I have rarely seen addressed in a meaningful way is favoritism by parents towards children. When Lydia, the favorite, and the middle child of the family dies, the Lee’s are still left with two children, Nat and Hannah. Celeste explores their perspectives with depth, particularly in regards to Nat and the complex relationship he had with Lydia.

Stylistically, I find Celeste Ng’s writing beautiful and lyrical. It worked well for a story such as this one. At just over 300 pages, this was not a long book, but Ng’s style slowed down the tempo of a story that could have otherwise moved too quickly. There is a twist at the end. I will be quite honest – I thought the novel could have done without the twist and it might have been all the better for it, but it certainly did not ruin the book for me. The ending was not as strong as the beginning, but part of that might just be my personal preference of how “finished” I like conclusions to be. Overall, I still think this was an excellent debut novel and one that entered my life at just the right time.

Born A Crime by Trevor Noah (ISBN-13: 978-0399588174) is probably one of the best memoirs I’ve read, though I admit I haven’t read many. I would highly recommend experiencing this book in the audiobook form. Audible was offering this book for free for a limited time through Goodreads, so of course I took them up on the offer. Especially since this book was already on my to-read list. Trevor Noah narrates the audiobook himself, and his accent is pleasant to listen to and gives life to his stories. I didn’t know much about him before listening to this, besides that he succeeded Jon Stewart to be the host of The Daily Show. He was relatively unknown in the States before he took on that role, but since then I have seen bits and pieces of his show through video clips posted online. From what I had seen, he had some great insight on various political and social issues, particularly ones regarding race relations. Now, having read his memoir, it all makes sense.

Trevor Noah was quite literally born a crime. He was born in South Africa during the apartheid (institutional segregation) to a black mother and a white father, when interracial relationships were illegal. The memoir is almost set up like a collection of short stories, and detail Noah’s experiences growing up during the apartheid and its aftermath. In apartheid South Africa, biracial children were classified as their own race – colored. That’s what Trevor was, and it brought its own set of difficulties. Even though the way he grew up was vastly different to my childhood, I could relate to many of his experiences of feeling like an outsider. Growing up as a second generation Taiwanese-American, I often felt like I fit in nowhere, being neither American nor Taiwanese enough.

Noah has been through some very tough circumstances, but he has such a good sense of humor that it makes the depravity of apartheid easier to digest. I felt like I learned more about apartheid and South African history from this book than I ever did in my history classes. Yet there was never a point where I felt overloaded with information, or like this novel was becoming too much like a textbook. Noah hits some tough topics, like colonization, methods of oppression, and racism, but uses personal anecdotes to make these concepts come alive. There were a couple of chapters near the end that dragged a little; the stories are not chronological, and jump between Noah’s childhood, teen, and young adult years. I would rearrange a couple of the chapters, but I can see why he sequenced the chapters the way he did now that I know the ending. Overall this was a highly enjoyable read, and I feel like I have a better grasp of Trevor Noah’s sense of humor, which will be helpful when I watch his show in the future.

This review is part of my journey to read more diversely, Booking Around the World. Check out the link to see my other selections.

The Handmaid’s Tale(ISBN-13: 978-0385490818) was my first Margaret Atwood novel, and it did not disappoint. In fact, this book more than exceeded my expectations, being, in my opinion, fairly unique within the vast sea of dystopian literature out there. I had read this novel a while back, but I decided to revisit it due to all the comparisons to our current society during the 2016 American presidential election season. Our current political climate probably has a lot to do with it, but this book hit me so much harder emotionally the second time around. The lack of quotation marks in the narration style may be confusing at first, but eventually you get used to it, and it shows the blurred line between thought and reality. Atwood writes masterfully – her voice in this novel is understated, yet incredibly beautiful and moving. The frequent use of flashback and the non-chronological structure are employed intentionally, and she wants to play with the reader’s mind. You’re forced to question the reliability of the narrator – after all, she herself points out that she is recalling events from memory, which may often be unclear or reconstructed.

What was most chilling about this novel, for me, and what makes it stand out among other dystopian pieces, is the focus on women. The idea that women would be the first to lose their rights if society were to enter a form of totalitarian rule is haunting, yet not implausible. Even more eery is the suggestion that even the “good” men in democratic societies may quickly adapt, and even accept a world in which women have no rights. The parallels that we can draw to reality are what make this book unsettling. Is this book a piece of feminist literature? I think Atwood wants you, the reader, to answer that for yourself.

There are many points in the novel that force you to ask yourself what a truly realized egalitarian society should look like. It isn’t the society presented in the novel, yet it isn’t our present reality either. This tension is what makes this book a masterpiece; you’re not only left with the story, but with many important questions to consider regarding womanhood, feminism, oppression, and politics. The Handmaid’s Tale makes me look forward to reading more of Atwood’s writing in the future, where I hope she will continue to hash out some of the ideas she presented.

]]>https://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/2017/01/25/the-handmaids-tale-review/feed/0chopstickscheng19938586-_sy540_A Simple Acthttps://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/2016/12/20/untitled/
https://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/2016/12/20/untitled/#respondWed, 21 Dec 2016 03:53:50 +0000http://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/?p=1298Continue reading A Simple Act→]]>I don’t remember what exactly possessed me with the idea that day, but I had just shuffled out of my Religion & Culture class, which ended rather late at 5:15 PM. I had no dinner plans with anyone, and no time to make any. Immediately, I was transported back to middle school, when I would scurry back and forth between two girls’ washrooms, occasionally greeting teachers on the way as to not blow my cover, pretending I was about to go to recess. I’d find an empty stall, make sure no one saw me enter with my lunch bag and quickly scarf down my meal. It wasn’t until later that I was brave enough to confidently sit down at a lunch table and enjoy my solitude with a good book. For a long time, I didn’t want anyone to suspect that I was the girl who ate alone.

If there was ever a time to feel like the smallest, most insignificant speck in the world, it was during this lunchtime ritual. Even when I did eventually find some people to commune with, it was never a stable group. If lunch plans fell through with one group, I would be anxious until I received a verbal invitation from another group. Lunch became political – parties were formed, hierarchies established, and there was even plenty of bureaucratic red tape. If you were part of one group, it could take weeks – months, even, to transition into another. I never felt like I fully belonged to any one group of people, and my transience wasn’t something I enjoyed as a timid, awkward tween. I flitted between cliques because it felt necessary, and most of the time, I was merely tolerated.

No one wants to be just tolerated.

But here I was, a freshman in college, and once again I felt a distinct lack of belonging. Here, no one would kick anyone else out of a lunch group. After all, most of us had grown out of our pettiness, and this was a Christian college, so everyone had to be nice – at least on the surface. Moreover, I had friends here, and good ones at that. Yet, on days like these, where I had no plans lined up with anyone, I felt as small as I did back then. The insecurities quickly crept in. Were people friends with me merely out of convenience? If so, I wanted no part of it – I valued authenticity above all else. I was never one to beg or to grovel. Even if I had few friends here, at least I still had self-respect. Today, though, self-respect felt a bit lonely.

I’m not usually one for instant gratification, but I needed to do something to get out of this rut of self-pity. I suddenly remembered that I had borrowed my mother’s car for the week. Freedom. I could go off campus, and I knew exactly where I was going. I walked to the far away freshman parking lot, aptly nicknamed Africa, and found the old, greige sedan. As I departed the campus, I began to feel giddy.

My spirits were already up, and I hadn’t even reached my destination. It felt good to finally be alone with my thoughts. On a small campus that was intensely community focused (and with a roommate), social stimulation was almost constant. I had not realized how much it drained me until now. The university was located in a small town in the middle of some cornfields. Off-campus activity wasn’t really banned, but as a freshman who was normally without a car, the campus certainly felt insular at times. Even going 30 minutes off campus felt a little like an act of rebellion.

I arrived. I quickly found a parking space and walked into a mainstay of capitalist America: the shopping mall. I checked the map and found my final destination, a piercing booth in the center aisle.

The only piercings I had were my two earlobe piercings, which I had begged my mother to allow me to get. She had resisted for a while until she finally gave in when I turned thirteen years old. I had always wanted double pierced ears, but my mother was firmly against the idea. I think she associated multiple piercings with people living in debauchery or something like that. Anyways, I had been eighteen for a few months but I never got around to getting my second piercings. Today felt like the perfect day to get them done. Sure, it wasn’t going to be a dramatic change to my appearance, but I was itching to do something to regain my agency. This would be a choice that was fully mine, not just something done out of convenience or fear of what others would think. My cautious nature prevented me from doing things on a whim, but today I needed to do something impulsive.

I walked up to the counter and only one girl was at the booth. She couldn’t have been much older than me, and she was wearing a rhinestone covered crop top, low rise flares and an unamused face. I didn’t fully trust this girl to properly pierce my ears, but fuck it, I had already come all the way here and I was going to get it done no matter what. I filled out the forms, chose a pair of plain gold studs and she dotted my lobes with a marker and handed me a mirror.

“Hmm…I think they’re too far apart,” I remarked.

The girl, still expressionless, obliged and wiped off the dots with an alcohol wipe and redrew them.

“Better?”

“Yes, better.”

Some adrenaline and two punches from the piercing gun later, it was over. I paid at the counter and walked back to my car, heart pounding. My ears felt hot, but there wasn’t pain, just warmth. As if my body was on auto-drive, I watched my hand reach into my purse for my cell and dial my mom’s number. She answered, pleased to hear my voice (I didn’t call her very often, seeing as I lived nearby). I blurted out to her what I had just done.

Her response was one of slight surprise, but mainly amusement. After all, if getting double pierced ears is the worst thing your daughter does while off at university, I think you’ve done pretty well as a parent. She was probably even a little proud that I was finally finding my own way. We made some more small talk, and said our goodbyes.

I don’t know why the two newly acquired punctures in my skin made me feel so powerful, but they did. I sat in my car for a while as I waited for it to heat up, and my eyes wandered to the rear view mirror to inspect my lobes.

“Damn it. I think they’re too close together.”

– A. Cheng

]]>https://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/2016/12/20/untitled/feed/0chopstickschengAesthetichttps://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/2016/11/22/aesthetic/
https://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/2016/11/22/aesthetic/#respondTue, 22 Nov 2016 06:43:25 +0000http://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/?p=1162Continue reading Aesthetic→]]>Aesthetic is a word that has become yet another cliché as of late. Though traditionally used more often as a noun, the new usage in pop culture tends to be adjectival and ironic, i.e. “That is so aesthetic!”

As contrived as the usage of “aesthetic” can be, I think it can still appropriately describe a certain je ne sais quoi, a vision of our lives and what we want it to look like. In essence, the word simply represents the act of appreciating beauty, which I believe has the potential to empower us. If we wait until all the little pieces of our lives are in place to be happy, to fit our aesthetic, then we may never truly be content.

The Japanese people have a interesting concept called 侘寂, or Wabi-sabi. It is their philosophy of aesthetics: “wabi-sabi is the art of finding beauty in imperfection and profundity in earthiness, of revering authenticity above all” (source). I find this concept fascinating. This is more in line with how I personally view aesthetics – not as a goal, but instead, a daily act. I think the appreciation of beauty in the present – however frivolous or earnest (and sometimes both) – is respectable, and I hope to incorporate it more into my own life.

I never made an official blog post after the US presidential election, which happened about two weeks ago. Like many of the people in our country, I was shocked by the results. I am still working through the many stages of grief, but something struck me as I scrolled through my Twitter feed, commiserating with others across the nation. Many of the artists and creative people I follow were sitting in their grief just as I was, but they did not let the despair destroy their motivation to create. This particular Huffington Post article titled What It Means To Be An Artist In The Time Of Trump was one of the many articles that I consumed voraciously as I tried to make peace with what happened a week prior. While I am still saddened by the election results, I think for myself, and many others, I am more motivated than ever to change the world in whatever way I can. Apathy is no longer acceptable, no matter who we are. Not all of us can be activists in the traditional sense, but we all have a responsibility to use our voices to speak up for the marginalized and hurting. I think all humans at our core want our own spaces in the world, a place where we can create things that others can relate to – whether it is drawing, music, words, or experiences. Now is an important time to continue to consume and to create, to continue to hold onto what is beautiful and to transform some of the ugliness in our spheres of influence.

Here are some of the beautiful things I have been appreciating lately because let’s be real — we could all use a little more inspiration these days:

Clearly inspired by Jeff Koons, this little sculpture is too cute for words. I don’t have $58.4 million dollars to spare, this one won’t take up an entire room AND it’s rose gold so it’s really a win/win/win.

2. Burberry Brit eau de Parfum

I have been loving a spritz of this fragrance lately. This is a description from Fragrantica:

“Burberry Brit is a fragrance that keeps the tradition but with a modern sound, it brings the English irony and English dignity. It opens with fresh notes of green lemon, frosted pear and white almond. The heart blooms with white peony. The drydown is very gourmand with vanilla, amber, mahogany and balsamic Tonka bean accords. The fragrance was created by Nathalie Cracia-Getto in 2003.”

To me, this smells warm but fresh at the same time. I can really sense the pear note, which adds enough fruitiness without being unsophisticated. I’m usually not a fan of gourmand scents with too much vanilla or candy-like notes, but this one has just a touch of vanilla. It’s not overpowering so it won’t offend the people around you, but it lingers all day on my skin. Scent is so connected to emotions and memories – a light spritz of perfume can be a lovely mood booster, and I see it as a nice last touch to an outfit and how I want to present myself on any given day.

3. From Up On Poppy Hill (2011)

Scripted by one of my favorite animators, Hayao Miyazaki, and directed by his son, Goro, this movie was lovely. I grew up on Kiki’s Delivery Service, another Miyazaki film, and it remains one of my favorite movies to watch when I feel nostalgic. From Up On Poppy Hill has the same sweet and youthful elements of Kiki’s Delivery Service with a more grown-up plot. Set in post World War II Japan, the story revolves around high school student Umi, whose father is deceased and mother is working abroad. While not as daring as some of Miyazaki’s other films, he still took a common anime trope and somehow made it fresh. The themes of young love and the optimism of the generation of youth are well-executed. Once again, Miyazaki did not disappoint. A film like this one, which takes serious subject matter and approaches it with optimism, is just what I needed.

I have been following husband-wife folk duo Jenny & Tyler for a while now. Their voices blend together so seamlessly, and their songs have some powerful lyrical content. They explore themes like poverty, suffering, doubt, in ways that not many mainstream artists do. They’re Christ-followers, but their music isn’t always overtly Christian, which I think is a good thing. Not to mention, they have used their voices to raise money and awareness for organizations that I admire such as International Justice Mission.

I recently stumbled upon their EP For Freedom, which is an EP of carefully selected songs they chose to cover. They blogged about why they chose each song here. I’m not a huge Coldplay fan but I do really like the song The Scientist. Jenny & Tyler’s rendition is beautiful, and I have to say that I may even enjoy this cover more than the original, which is not the norm for me. The harmonizing in this cover is just addicting, and like me, you may just have to put this song on repeat.

These are just a few things that I have been loving lately. I hope you don’t forget to hold onto the things that inspire you.

– Ariana

]]>https://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/2016/11/22/aesthetic/feed/0fid13063chopstickschengil_570xn-949349468_r1jrburberry-brit-for-women-eau-de-parfum-500x500fid1306309-ogArmenia: Falling Back in Love with Short Storytellinghttps://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/2016/10/06/armenia-falling-back-in-love-with-short-storytelling/
https://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/2016/10/06/armenia-falling-back-in-love-with-short-storytelling/#respondFri, 07 Oct 2016 02:00:11 +0000http://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/?p=910Continue reading Armenia: Falling Back in Love with Short Storytelling→]]>At this point it would be redundant to apologize for my lack of Booking Around the World related posts since I’ve never really gotten into a consistent posting schedule thus far. But I’m happy to be back with another review, even if I decided to go a little out of order.

The next country on the list was supposed to be Angola, but another book caught my interest first, and it happened to be by an Armenian author.

Bringing Ararat(ISBN-13: 978-0982708408) by Armand Inezian is a collection of short stories spanning across the 20th century Armenian diaspora. I vaguely remember covering the Armenian Genocide in high school classes, but just enough for me to know some verbiage and scattered facts. I knew little, if anything, about the rest of Armenian history and culture. For example, I was not aware of how widespread the Armenian diaspora is, largely due to the Armenian Genocide. Many Armenian refugees fled to Romania, Lebanon, and even the United States during the 20th century.

Bringing Ararat was my first foray into short stories in a while. I have no idea why this form of literature was so neglected by me, but Armand Inezian rekindled my passion for short storytelling. I consider myself as someone firmly rooted in rationality, but allow me to get a little mystical. It is a beautiful, even spiritual experience when a work of art – be it a painting, a song, or a book – enters your life at exactly the right time. Reading Bringing Ararat was one of those experiences.

Some of the stories in Bringing Ararat are funny, some of them poignant, all of them raw. There’s a story about a man plotting to kill his ex-boyfriend’s cat as revenge, and another about a husband dealing with feelings of lust as he has to take care of his dying wife. Inezian’s candid style is what makes these stories relatable across culture and background. For a nation and culture that is sparsely represented in Western media, I think short stories were the perfect way to portray the Armenian people. Each story was like a snapshot of one person’s experience out of millions, yet there is a cohesiveness to the stories, even if all the characters and settings are different.

Moreover, while not the central point of each story, Inezian consistently touched on the theme of immigration. As I mentioned before, many Armenians were essentially forced to be nomads after the Armenian Genocide. The stories felt especially relevant as many countries today face high influxes of refugees. While much of the news tends to focus on how governmental institutions will deal with the refugees, there is much less writing that tries to understand the obstacles that refugees have to face.

While I cannot begin to understand the experience of a refugee, I could relate in some ways through my experience as the child of two immigrants. Inezian used his stories to shed light on topics such as the cultural divide between first-generation immigrants and their own children, generational differences, traditional Armenian views of mental illness, and the feeling of unbelonging that I think all immigrants (or even their children) face. There were so many times while reading Bringing Ararat I had to check and make sure the book wasn’t really about Taiwanese people or Asian-Americans. There is a collective immigrant experience that Inezian successfully tapped into, and it touched a part of my soul that had not been awoken in a long time.

I think a wide range of people would enjoy Bringing Ararat, due to the variety of stories included in the collection. Inezian’s writing is consistently clever and flows naturally. I can see myself recommending this book to many friends who want to learn more about the experience of refugees, as this book shows a personal side to the story of refugees that cold, hard data and academic sources simply can not.

I occasionally save random thoughts on Evernote, clip articles I’m interested in, and write full blown pieces for this blog, but journaling? It has always been something that I’ve feared a little.

Why, you might ask? After all, I don’t think writing your thoughts in a private notebook is usually on people’s lists of scary things. But to me, it is terrifying. Believe me, I’ve tried to keep a consistent journal so many times over the years I’ve lost count. I even found several notebooks that I filled from middle school and promptly put them through a shredder and threw them away.

That is precisely why I’m so scared of journaling – it’s only intended audience is myself. I was horrified to see the vapid things I cared about as a thirteen year old. The people I admired from afar, the angsty music I listened to, how badly I wanted to fit in – it was all recorded for me to relive. It’s easier for me to embellish or glamorize the past if I don’t have evidence of the world as it really was.

But recently, I’ve enjoyed journaling more than ever. I think I’ve grown a lot in terms of knowing myself. I realized that journaling doesn’t have to just be a history of my life, but can instead be a history of my thoughts. Thoughts are fleeting, and if I don’t record them, they’re gone forever. Maybe I disliked journaling before because I didn’t value my thoughts. I didn’t think they were worth keeping, even for just myself and no one else.

Yesterday, I watched one of my favorite French films, Vivre Sa Vie (1962), or My Life to Live. Directed by Jean Luc Godard, a legend in the French New Wave film movement, and starring one of his long-term muses, Anna Karina, this film is nothing short of magnificent. It is said that Quentin Tarantino paid homage to Vivre Sa Vie in several ways when he filmed Pulp Fiction, and that is a movie that shows up on “best of all time” lists, every time.

Vivre Sa Vie is split into twelve short pieces, vignettes, that portray the story of an aspiring actress Nana (Karina) who eventually becomes a prostitute.

In the eleventh tableau of the film, titled “Place du Châtelet – A Stranger – Nana, The Unwitting Philosopher”, Nana is sitting in a cafe and strikes up a conversation with an old man. She doesn’t know that the man happens to be a philosopher, played by real life philosopher Brice Parain. They begin a quick, back and forth dialogue about the relationship between language and thought, only slowing down to have Nana break the fourth wall, staring straight at the camera with her melancholic doe eyes. Anyways, at one point, Brice says this (translated from French):

“It’s always struck me, the fact we can’t live without speaking. We must think, and for thought we need words. There’s no other way to think. To communicate, one must speak. That’s our life. Speaking is almost a resurrection in relation to life. Speaking is a different life from when one does not speak. So, to live speaking one must pass through the death of life without speaking. I don’t think one can distinguish a thought from the words that express it. A moment of thought can only be grasped through words.”

That dialogue alone is a good reason to watch this film if you haven’t, but I digress. Brice’s words showed me the importance of converting my thoughts into tangible language while also not feeling guilty about my spotty journaling up until now. As he said, I needed to understand how it felt not to speak to be able to write with the voice I have now.

Not only is journaling meditative for me, it’s also a lesson in forgiving myself. When I create something be it writing, art, music, or otherwise, I want to be as close to the final product as possible. It’s difficult for me to allow myself room to start with something rough around the edges and this often leads to procrastination, apathy, or paralysis. Yes, I know that it is naive to think that I can improve at my crafts if I don’t allow myself to make mistakes. Trust me, it’s not a good trait and I have all the projects I have started but never finished to remind me. Journaling teaches me entry by entry that I need to allow myself to have truly rough drafts so that my final drafts can shine. There’s a little part of me that still fears people reading my rough, untidy innermost thoughts one day but I’m becoming more and more okay with it. Baby steps, right?

– Ariana

]]>https://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/2016/09/03/vivre-sa-vie-and-recording-my-thoughts/feed/0AnnachopstickschengAnnaSocial Media Activism Can Be Goodhttps://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/2016/07/21/social-media-activism-can-be-good/
https://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/2016/07/21/social-media-activism-can-be-good/#respondThu, 21 Jul 2016 17:03:21 +0000http://theveiledpursuit.wordpress.com/?p=801Continue reading Social Media Activism Can Be Good→]]>I am an active user of several different social media platforms. Across all platforms, it is common to witness disastrous oversharing (I do NOT need to know the texture of your one month old’s fecal matter), pointless chain letters, and self-promotion. While I keep the deeply personal parts of my life off of social media, I do write or share a significant amount of political or social justice related pieces. People who share their opinions on these matters are often criticized for being “slacktivists” or “keyboard warriors.”

“All you’re doing is sitting behind a computer. What are you actually doing to help?”

While I do not deny that some people mishandle the way they dialogue on social media, I wanted to bring up some positive aspects of social media activism and how it has helped me become a more well-rounded, engaged global citizen. Let me present to you three points:

1. Precision of Language

If there’s anything that Twitter has taught me, it is that people like things to be short and sweet. I may link an article with a detailed analysis of a terrorist group but the majority of people are going to just read my reaction to the article. If they get as far as clicking the link, they will most likely just skim. This is why I have become a more precise communicator on and off social media. Up until very recently, I barely used my Twitter. “But HOW can I share what I think in 140 characters or less?” It is possible, and this is coming from a chronic rambler. Get rid of the fluff. Efforts to be more concise require one to prioritize their thoughts and select the most important points.

TL;DR: Precise writing is a good skill to have that will benefit you in situations outside of social media as well.

2. Agency

Social media lends an enormous amount of power to people who may otherwise feel voiceless or powerless in other areas of their lives, such as their workplace or family. Now, this can obviously be used in good and bad ways. I am not saying you should bottle your emotions in your daily life and word vomit on Facebook or lash out towards strangers. That is a destructive usage of your voice, and can have serious consequences such as the loss of a job. But your control over your social media platforms should empower you to use your voice.

In our daily lives, we may have to be meek and submissive due to our age, education level, job position, or myriad other reasons. Social media is an equalizer. People you know personally will still have preconceived notions about you as a person, and a stranger can still creep on your profile to try and gather details about your socioeconomic status, sexuality, or otherwise. But if you are engaging with acquaintances or strangers on the internet, it is more likely you will be judged on the strength of your arguments.

I tend to be a non-confrontational person and I do not respond well to aggression. If a discussion gets heated in real life, it can quickly devolve into people just making personal attacks. Through social media, I am able to take time and formulate a response after my emotions have settled. I cannot control how others respond to me, but often times it is easier for me to respond in a balanced, rational manner online whereas in real life, I may not be able to hide my emotional reaction. I get to choose when to respond, or not to respond at all.

On the problem of trolls: social media also gives you agency in that manner. You cannot block or unfriend someone in real life. You do have that power online. We should not solely interact with people that agree with us (see next point) but if someone is harassing you and refuses to engage in a constructive discussion, you have the ability to ignore them or block them.

TL;DR:Social media gives us agency that we may not have at our jobs, schools, in our family, etc.

We ARE keyboard warriors, hear us roar.

3. The Empathy Muscle

Now I will respond to the people who think social media activism means people will engage their communities less in real life.

First, social media activism and civic engagement are not mutually exclusive. I would actually argue that the two can bolster each other. For example, people can make appeals to action on social media. They can also create and organize events through their platforms. On the flip side, businesses or non-profit organizations can engage with the people they serve through a public page.

Second, I believe social media can bring awareness to its users. Without said awareness, people may not have even known about certain opportunities to be active in their local communities. The most recent example I can think of is after the Orlando nightclub shooting, people were posting a number of crowdfunding opportunities to help out the victims. I also saw many people encouraging locals to donate blood to help the cause.

Third, social media’s reach allows us to interact with people around the world that we may not have met otherwise. Many prejudices and biases that people have are due to “in-group, out-group” lines of thinking. When we are able to humanize people we have previously viewed as “the other,” we are better able to empathize with them. I firmly believe empathy is a muscle that can be strengthened. The more we are able to put ourselves in other people’s shoes, the less judgmental we become. Some people may live in communities that lack diversity. By interacting with others through social media, they are able to gain empathy for a more diverse body of people.

TL;DR: We can use social media to encourage civic engagement, and it allows us to “meet” people we wouldn’t have otherwise = we can gain empathy for more people.

Closing Remarks

Of course, there are a number of downsides to being an activist on social media as well. I figured they are brought up a lot more than ways that social media activism can be positive. For myself, I think discussing politics and justice on social media challenges me to be more aware of the world around me and encourages me to be more active on a grassroots level. I am not saying that “slacktivism” does not exist. But hopefully by sharing some positives of using social media as an avenue for activism, I can encourage others to use their platforms as a catalyst – not a deterrent – to action.